The Virginians

by William Makepeace Thackeray

  CHAPTER LXXVI. Informs us how Mr. Warrington jumped into a Landau

  The emotion at the first surprise and greeting over, the little maidenbegan at once.

  "So you are come at last to ask after Theo, and you feel sorry that yourneglect has made her so ill? For six weeks she has been unwell, and youhave never asked a word about her! Very kind of you, Mr. George, I'msure!"

  "Kind!" gasps out Mr. Warrington.

  "I suppose you call it kind to be with her every day and all day for ayear, and then to leave her without a word?"

  "My dear, you know my promise to your father?" I reply.

  "Promise!" says Miss Hetty, shrugging her shoulders. "A very finepromise, indeed, to make my darling ill, and then suddenly, one fineday, to say, 'Good-bye, Theo,' and walk away for ever. I supposegentlemen make these promises, because they wish to keep 'em. I wouldn'ttrifle with a poor child's heart, and leave her afterwards, if I were aman. What has she ever done to you, but be a fool and too fond of you?Pray, sir, by what right do you take her away from all of us, and thendesert her, because an old woman in America don't approve of her? Shewas happy with us before you came. She loved her sister--there never wassuch a sister--until she saw you. And now, because your mamma thinks heryoung gentleman might do better, you must leave her forsooth!"

  "Great powers, child!" I cried, exasperated at this wrongheadedness."Was it I that drew back? Is it not I that am forbidden your house? anddid not your father require, on my honour, that I should not see her?"

  "Honour! And you are the men who pretend to be our superiors; and it iswe who are to respect you and admire you! I declare, George Warrington,you ought to go back to your schoolroom in Virginia again; have yourblack nurse to tuck you up in bed, and ask leave from your mamma whenyou might walk out. Oh, George! I little thought that my sister wasgiving her heart away to a man who hadn't the spirit to stand by her;but, at the first difficulty, left her! When Doctor Heberden said he wasattending you, I determined to come and see you, and you do look veryill, that I am glad to see; and I suppose it's your mother you arefrightened of. But I shan't tell Theo that you are unwell. She hasn'tleft off caring for you. She can't walk out of a room, break her solemnengagements, and go into the world the next day as if nothing hadhappened! That is left for men, our superiors in courage and wisdom; andto desert an angel--yes, an angel ten thousand times too good for you;an angel who used to love me till she saw you, and who was the blessingof life and of all of us--is what you call honour? Don't tell me, sir!I despise you all! You are our betters, are you? We are to worship andwait on you, I suppose? I don't care about your wit, and your tragedies,and your verses; and I think they are often very stupid. I won't setup of nights copying your manuscripts, nor watch hour after hour at awindow wasting my time and neglecting everybody because I want to seeyour worship walk down the street with your hat cocked! If you aregoing away, and welcome, give me back my sister, I say! Give me back mydarling of old days, who loved every one of us, till she saw you. Andyou leave her because your mamma thinks she can find somebody richerfor you! Oh, you brave gentleman! Go and marry the person your motherchooses, and let my dear die here deserted!"

  "Great heavens, Hetty!" I cry, amazed at the logic of the little woman."Is it I who wish to leave your sister? Did I not offer to keep mypromise, and was it not your father who refused me, and made me promisenever to try and see her again? What have I but my word, and my honour?"

  "Honour, indeed! You keep your word to him, and you break it to her!Pretty honour! If I were a man, I would soon let you know what I thoughtof your honour! Only I forgot--you are bound to keep the peace andmustn't... Oh, George, George! Don't you see the grief I am in? I amdistracted, and scarce know what I say. You must not leave my darling.They don't know it at home. They don't think so but I know her best ofall, and she will die if you leave her. Say you won't! Have pity uponme, Mr. Warrington, and give me my dearest back!" Thus the warm-hearted,distracted creature ran from anger to entreaty, from scorn to tears. Wasmy little doctor right in thus speaking of the case of her dear patient?Was there no other remedy than that which Hetty cried for? Have notothers felt the same cruel pain of amputation, undergone the sameexhaustion and fever afterwards, lain hopeless of anything save death,and yet recovered after all, and limped through life subsequently? Why,but that love is selfish, and does not heed other people's griefs andpassions, or that ours was so intense and special that we deemed noother lovers could suffer like ourselves;--here in the passionate youngpleader for her sister, we might have shown an instance that a fondheart could be stricken with the love malady and silently suffer it,live under it, recover from it. What had happened in Hetty's own case?Her sister and I, in our easy triumph and fond confidential prattle, hadmany a time talked over that matter, and, egotists as we were, perhapsdrawn a secret zest and security out of her less fortunate attachment.'Twas like sitting by the fireside and hearing the winter howlingwithout; 'twas like walking by the maxi magno, and seeing the shiptossing at sea. We clung to each other only the more closely, and,wrapped in our own happiness, viewed others' misfortunes with complacentpity. Be the truth as it may. Grant that we might have been sundered,and after a while survived the separation, so much my sceptical old agemay be disposed to admit. Yet, at that time, I was eager enough to sharemy ardent little Hetty's terrors and apprehensions, and willingly choseto believe that the life dearest to me in the world would be sacrificedif separated from mine. Was I wrong? I would not say as much now. I maydoubt about myself (or not doubt, I know), but of her, never; and Hettyfound in her quite a willing sharer in her alarms and terrors. I was forimparting some of these to our doctor; but the good gentleman shut mymouth. "Hush," says he, with a comical look of fright. "I must hear noneof this. If two people who happen to know each other chance to meet andtalk in my patients' room, I cannot help myself; but as for match-makingand love-making, I am your humble servant! What will the General do whenhe comes back to town? He will have me behind Montagu House as sure as Iam a live doctor, and alive I wish to remain, my good sir!" and he skipsinto his carriage, and leaves me there meditating. "And you and MissHetty must have no meetings here again, mind you that," he had saidpreviously.

  Oh no! Of course we would have none! We are gentlemen of honour, and soforth, and our word is our word. Besides, to have seen Hetty, was notthat an inestimable boon, and would we not be for ever grateful? I amso refreshed with that drop of water I have had, that I think I can holdout for ever so long a time now. I walk away with Hetty to Soho, andnever once thought of arranging a new meeting with her. But the littleemissary was more thoughtful, and she asks me whether I go to theMuseum now to read? And I say, "Oh yes, sometimes, my dear; but I am toowretched for reading now; I cannot see what is on the paper. I do notcare about my books. Even Pocahontas is wearisome to me. I..." Imight have continued ever so much further, when, "Nonsense!" she says,stamping her little foot. "Why, I declare, George, you are more stupidthan Harry!"

  "How do you mean, my dear child?" I asked.

  "When do you go? You go away at three o'clock. You strike across on theroad to Tottenham Court. You walk through the village, and return by theGreen Lane that leads back towards the new hospital. You know you do! Ifyou walk for a week there, it can't do you any harm. Good morning, sir!You'll please not follow me any farther." And she drops me a curtsey,and walks away with a veil over her face.

  That Green Lane, which lay to the north of the new hospital, is builtall over with houses now. In my time, when good old George II. was yetking, 'twas a shabby rural outlet of London; so dangerous, that the Cityfolks who went to their villas and junketing houses at Hampstead and theoutlying villages, would return in parties of nights, and escorted bywaiters with lanthorns, to defend them from the footpads who prowledabout the town outskirts. Hampstead and Highgate churches, each crowningits hill, filled up the background of the view which you saw asyou turned your back to London; and one, two, three days Mr. GeorgeWarrington had the pleasure of looking upon this landscape, and
walkingback in the direction of the new hospital.

  Along the lane were sundry small houses of entertainment; and I rememberat one place, where they sold cakes and beer, at the sign of theProtestant Hero, a decent woman smiling at me on the third or fourthday, and curtseying in her clean apron, as she says, "It appears thelady don't come, sir! Your honour had best step in, and take a can of mycool beer."

  At length, as I am coming back through Tottenham Road, on the 25th ofMay--O day to be marked with the whitest stone!--a little way beyond Mr.Whitefield's Tabernacle, I see a landau before me, and on the box-seatby the driver is my young friend Charley, who waves his hat to me andcalls out, "George! George!" I ran up to the carriage, my knees knockingtogether so that I thought I should fall by the wheel; and inside I seeHetty, and by her my dearest Theo, propped with a pillow. How thin thelittle hand had become since last it was laid in mine! The cheeks wereflushed and wasted, the eyes strangely bright, and the thrill of thevoice when she spoke a word or two, smote me with a pang, I know not ofgrief or joy was it, so intimately were they blended.

  "I am taking her an airing to Hampstead," says Hetty, demurely. "Thedoctor says the air will do her good."

  "I have been ill, but I am better now, George," says Theo. There came agreat burst of music from the people in the chapel hard by, as she wasspeaking. I held her hand in mine. Her eyes were looking into mine oncemore. It seemed as if we had never been parted.

  I can never forget the tune of that psalm. I have heard it all throughmy life. My wife has touched it on her harpsichord, and her little oneshave warbled it. Now, do you understand, young people, why I love it so?Because 'twas the music played at our amoris redintegratio. Because itsang hope to me, at the period of my existence the most miserable. Yes,the most miserable: for that dreary confinement of Duquesne had itstendernesses and kindly associations connected with it; and many a timein after days I have thought with fondness of the poor Biche and mytipsy jailor, and the reveille of the forest birds and the militarymusic of my prison.

  Master Charley looks down from his box-seat upon his sister and meengaged in beatific contemplation, and Hetty listening too, to themusic. "I think I should like to go and hear it. And that famous Mr.Whitfield, perhaps he is going to preach this very day! Come in with me,Charley--and George can drive for half an hour with dear Theo towardsHampstead and back."

  Charley did not seem to have any very strong desire for witnessing thedevotional exercises of good Mr. Whitfield and his congregation, andproposed that George Warrington should take Hetty in; but Het was notto be denied. "I will never help you in another exercise as long as youlive, sir," cries Miss Hetty, "if you don't come on,"--while the youthclambered down from his box-seat, and they entered the temple together.

  Can any moralist, bearing my previous promises in mind, excuse me forjumping into the carriage and sitting down once more by my dearest Theo?Suppose I did break 'em? Will he blame me much? Reverend sir, you arewelcome. I broke my promise; and if you would not do as much, goodfriend, you are welcome to your virtue. Not that I for a moment suspectmy own children will ever be so bold as to think of having hearts oftheir own, and bestowing them according to their liking. No, my youngpeople, you will let papa choose for you; be hungry when he tellsyou; be thirsty when he orders; and settle your children's marriagesafterwards.

  And now of course you are anxious to hear what took place when papajumped into the landau by the side of poor little mamma, propped up byher pillows. "I am come to your part of the story, my dear," says I,looking over to my wife as she is plying her needles.

  "To what, pray?" says my lady. "You should skip all that part, and cometo the grand battles, and your heroic defence of----"

  "Of Fort Fiddlededee in the year 1778, when I pulled off Mr.Washington's epaulet, gouged General Gates's eye, cut off Charles Lee'shead, and pasted it on again!"

  "Let us hear all about the fighting," say the boys. Even the Captaincondescends to own he will listen to any military details, though onlyfrom a militia officer.

  "Fair and softly, young people! Everything in its turn. I am not yetarrived at the war. I am only a young gentleman, just stepping intoa landau, by the side of a young lady whom I promised to avoid. I amtaking her hand, which, after a little ado, she leaves in mine. Do youremember how hot it was, the little thing, how it trembled, and how itthrobbed and jumped a hundred and twenty in a minute? And as we trot ontowards Hampstead, I address Miss Lambert in the following terms----"

  "Ah, ah, ah!" say the girls in a chorus with mademoiselle, their Frenchgoverness, who cries, "Nous ecoutons maintenant. La parole est a vous,Monsieur le Chevalier!"

  Here we have them all in a circle: mamma is at her side of the fire,papa at his; Mademoiselle Eleonore, at whom the Captain looks rathersweetly (eyes off, Captain!); the two girls, listening like--likenymphas discentes to Apollo, let us say; and John and Tummas (withobtuse ears), who are bringing in the tea-trays and urns.

  "Very good," says the Squire, pulling out the MS., and waving it beforehim. "We are going to tell your mother's secrets and mine."

  "I am sure you may, papa," cries the house matron. "There's nothing tobe ashamed of." And a blush rises over her kind face.

  "But before I begin, young folks, permit me two or three questions."

  "Allons, toujours des questions!" says mademoiselle, with a shrug of herpretty shoulders. (Florac has recommended her to us, and I suspect thelittle Chevalier has himself an eye upon this pretty Mademoiselle deBlois.)

  To the questions, then.